


Scenes from an NHL Rink

by Raven17



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven17/pseuds/Raven17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just ficlets that are too short to be considered actual fics, and are in most cases just scenes, left open-ended.  I welcome anyone to pick up where I've left off, or to take them as inspiration for whatever might work for you. I tend to get a lot of scenes that I think of making into full fics and never get around to it, so rather than just leave them, I'll put them here for anyone who might enjoy them or want to take inspiration from them.</p><p>I'll add warnings and characters and relationships as I add to this, and I'll comment on each one, so do be mindful if you think its something you don't want to read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seabrook/Keith - gen, post Coyle slash

**Author's Note:**

> This could be read as pre-slash, but there's nothing that really even hints at that. 
> 
> Brent muses on Duncan, post-divorce.

Duncan _needs_ , more now than he ever has before, certainly more than he’ll ever ask for, more than he’ll ever admit to. But nothing he needs is more than Brent’s willing to give, and nothing he needs is anything Brent’s unable to give. Because Brent knows Duncan, knows who Duncan was before he got married, knows who Duncan was when he was married, and knows who Duncan is now, knows how Duncan is the same, and how he’s irrevocably different.

He’s been told never to judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes, and he thinks that he might better understand where Duncan is now if he could do that, but Brent can’t imagine a world where he doesn’t come home to Dayna, doesn’t want to think about where he’d be without her, so he doesn’t. He pushes it from his mind and does his best not to put himself in Duncan’s shoes, because a life without Dayna, even imagined, would be a fate worse than death.

Part of him can’t stop thinking about it, though, the ‘what if’ of it all, what would he do if he and Dayna got divorced, if they fell out of the magical love they’d fallen into, if they couldn’t stand the sight of each other. In the back of his mind, there’s the ‘what if’ that makes him think of how he’d react if Dayna cheated on him, and he doesn’t think he could ever handle it the way Duncan did.

Duncan’s strong. Stronger than Brent could ever be. 

But he’s not. And Brent can see the cracks when they start to show, when things get to be too much, when Duncan starts to break down. It starts with more pushups, more time on the bike, harder hits to their guys in practice, subtle and underhanded jabs he usually wouldn’t take on teammates and opponents alike. It bleeds into more time on ice, longer and rougher shifts, winces when he thinks no one’s looking and careful stretching of overworked and tired muscles that won’t get the recovery time they need. 

It ends with something Duncan won’t talk about, not even to Brent, something he’s suspended for, misses playoff time for. 

Brent watches the play over and over, wonders if it would have gone differently if he’d been on the ice, if he hadn’t been sick, watching from high up in the press box. He watches it in slow motion, rewinds, watches it again. He watches the play leading up to it, watches the aftermath. 

Duncan still won’t talk about it.

“It is what it is.” Duncan tells him when he asks.


	2. Rinne/Aberg - gen, post game 7 loss to the Sharks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also gen for the most. Can be pre-slash. 
> 
> I had the image of Rinne needing to let his stress out, like rough sex, but how to get there? And this came to mind and the sex scene just wouldn't come after this. So this is what you get.
> 
> And I left it open to violence, made it like Shea knows how Pekka is after a hard loss and wants to protect Pontus from that, but...

He meets Shea’s eyes across the locker room, tilts his head towards Pekka, where he sits in his stall, stripped only of his jersey and upper body padding. Shea shakes his head, a silent ‘no’.

Pontus can’t accept that. So he ignores the wordless warning and crosses the locker room to drop to his knees in front of their goalie.

Pekka’s their rock, just as much captain as Shea is. He always has a word of encouragement, always says the right things. He never pins blame, internalizes far more than is necessary. Pontus knows this loss is weighing heavy on his mind, knows he blames himself, and he shouldn’t. The team wasn’t there today, they were worn down and tired, didn’t protect him like they should have, made bad decisions. Shea himself was responsible for two of the goals scored tonight.

He doesn’t say a word as he unlaces Pekka’s skates, one at a time, pulls them from his feet and places them off to the side. He peels off Pekka’s socks, slowly, rolling them down muscular, hairy calves, pulling them over tired, aching feet. Next come Pekka’s hockey pants, unclipped from the suspenders helping to hold them up. 

Pekka doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches, considering, as Pontus works.

Pontus finally gets Pekka down to his underwear, urges him to his feet and leads him to the showers. They pass Shea, who reaches out to catch Pontus’ wrist.

Pontus looks at his wrist, held securely in Shea’s strong grip, raises his eyes to Shea’s. The look in his eyes says Shea needs to back off, says Shea was wrong in telling him not to go to Pekka.

Shea looks over at Pekka, who looks as beaten down as the rest of the team feels, a sharp contrast to when he’d broken his stick across his own goalpost. He looks back at Pontus, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. “Be careful, kid.”


	3. Kane/Panarin/Toews - gen, post Dumba

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Artemi after he went after Dumba, who laid Patrick Kane out open-ice. There's an undertone of possible Panarin/Kane maybe as a result of this, also a definite undertone of Toews/Kane, with jealous and possessive Jonny.

He’s not really thinking about the penalty he’s sure to take, how upset Q is going to be, or the _look_ he’s sure to receive from Jonny when he throws himself on top of Dumba. He hauls him up, and off, and throws him down, and the refs are getting in there pretty quickly, which he’s glad for, because he didn’t think this through and isn’t sure what comes next. 

If he’s honest, he wasn’t thinking at all, beyond _Patrick_. 

Patrick had gone down, and Artemi had just… reacted. Because it was an ugly hit, and Patrick’s slow to get to his knees, looks a little shaky as he heads off the ice. Because it’s _Patrick_.

He purposely doesn’t look at Jonny when his two minutes in the box are up, keeps his head up and his eyes down for the remainder of the game, though he manages a shy smile for Patrick when he gets back to the bench and taps his shins with his stick.

After the game, when he’s stripped of his gear down to his sweat-soaked Under Armor and coming back to the locker room after grabbing extra Gatorade and snacks, a hand wraps around his wrist and tugs. He’s caught off-guard, and he stumbles, looking up when his fall is stopped by a wide chest and broad shoulders.

Jonny.

 _Shit_.

“Patrick’s asking to see you.” Jonny grunts. He doesn’t sound happy.

Artemi takes a few steps back after regaining his balance, looks down to where Jonny’s still holding on to his wrist.

“Sorry.” Jonny releases his grip. “C’mon, kid. Patrick’s asking for you.”

The only word that really registers is ‘Patrick’. He’s gotten better at the language over the season, but the only player who’s really fluent in Toews, especially when said Captain is half-mumbling and spitting out words faster than he wins faceoffs, is Patrick.

He finds Anisimov across the locker room, and must look sufficiently desperate, because he comes over, still in his skates. A flood of Russian spills from his mouth, and only gets worse when he sees a smile stealing across Jonny’s face.

“I’m just trying to tell him Patrick wants to see him.” Jonny says.

Anisimov translates patiently, leaving Artemi staring at Jonny warily. He knows how protective Jonny is of Patrick—the whole team knows—and he’s never really been Jonny’s favorite person, especially since he’s managed to get on so well with Patrick despite the language barrier. It’s not as much a barrier as everyone thinks. They both speak hockey, and that’s the language that matters.


	4. Benn/Benn/Seguin - stated non-explicit, dom/sub, discipline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote an actual discipline fic between Jamie & Jordie with no Tyler Sequin, and had the idea of a longer fic where Jordie is more just... discipline to Jamie, but Tyler comes in as a boyfriend but also as a secondary dom. 
> 
> I'm not going to get around to finishing it between work and school and general adulting. 
> 
> I'll probably come up with a few more scenes here and there. 
> 
> This is fairly non-explicit, it's stated incest, and leads up to Tyler & Jamie. Stated discipline and Jamie as a sub.

Jamie’s always been a hothead. (Jordie’s always been the levelheaded one.)

Jamie’s always one to hold a grudge. (Jordie’s very much forgive and forget.)

Put the two together, and it’s really no surprise that when Jamie gets mad at himself, it lasts… and lasts… and lasts. It’s an ugly affair.

When it first happens, it’s a surprise to them both, and they don’t talk about it for months after it happens. When it happens again, it’s less of a surprise. That Jordie, at seventeen, is mature enough to realize they need to talk about it, is the surprise.

They talk about it.

They do more than talk about it, and by the time they’re both signed to the Dallas Stars, they don’t need to talk about it anymore. To the outside world, if they were to know of it, their relationship might seem complicated. Between the two of them, it’s simple. It’s only discipline, and only when Jamie’s so caught up in his own head, holding on to the self-hatred and being mad at himself, that he can’t claw his way out without help.

The discipline settles Jamie, helps him get back to himself, to a more even-keel. 

Over the years, they’ve learned what works and what doesn’t. They’ve learned that Jamie can take a spanking until Jordie’s hand hurts and still be able to play the next day without much discomfort. They’ve learned that Jamie needs the same amount of recovery time for fifty strokes with a paddle as he does for twenty lashes with a strap, and that the strap hurts Jamie a lot more. They’ve learned that corporal punishment works best. 

Over time, there have been some instances where sex has come into the picture. They haven’t figured that out yet—haven’t figured out at what point the punishment starts to become arousing to one or both of them—but they roll with it when it does. Seventy-five percent of the time, it’s non-sexual. 

Their entire relationship is based on Jordie disciplining Jamie.

Jordie provides aftercare.

Jamie has a safeword. He’s never used it.

Jordie’s always dominant. Jamie’s only submissive to Jordie.

It’s just them. And for years, it works. 

* * *

Enter Tyler Seguin. Tyler, who inserts himself as seamlessly into Jamie’s life as he does onto Jamie’s line. Tyler, who loves as hard as he plays, as hard as he practices. Tyler, who’s so different from Jamie but becomes his best friend on the team outside of Jordie without even trying.

When Jordie stops to think about it, it took longer than he should have expected.

 

“Jamie! Calm. Down.” That’s Tyler, and he sounds _commanding_ \--confident and sure in a way Jordie’s never heard before. “Sit down.”

 _”You don’t want to wake him up. If you wake him up and piss him off, then it’s over for everybody. He’ll run you over. He’s a beast if you piss him off.”_ His own words come back to him suddenly, and he’s hurrying towards the sound of Tyler’s voice,, feet carrying him at a near run down the yet abandoned hallways of the American Airlines Center. There’s practice in an hour, and teammates are slowly filtering in, but for now, the place is still largely empty, and luckily, too, because voices carry a lot better when the place is empty. 

He turns left, listening carefully for any sound, and the silence urges him faster, because he’s the only person who’s ever been able to calm Jamie down, and though Jamie might be the Captain, the team will still certainly not take kindly to Jamie having done anything that might have hurt—

Jamie’s sitting.

Jordie comes to a dead halt, skids on the tile floor and catches himself on the doorframe. “Tyl—“ He looks at his brother, sitting in a plastic chair. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, there’s a tic in his jaw and his eyes are flashing. But he’s sitting.

Tyler’s standing two feet away from him, an expression on his face that says he’s not quite sure what happened, what he just did.

Jamie’s breathing, slow, measured breaths that are drawn in through his nose and let out in loud, hissing exhales. Jordie casts him a causal glance before turning his attention to Tyler.

“He—“ Tyler holds up a hand. “He… his hips are giving him trouble and he won’t—he won’t fucking _listen_.”

Jordie’s voice goes low and dangerous as he turns towards his brother. “Jamie, what’s wrong with your hips?”

Jamie’s nose wrinkles and his face twists. “Nothing.” He grits out.


	5. McDavid/Strome, McDavid/Eichel - both suggested, after the NHL awards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Connor doesn't win the Calder. What happens next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... This is essentially written in @somethingnerdythiswaycomes' (how do I tag someone?!?!) universe and I hope she doesn't mind ... it's also in hopes that she'll finish it.
> 
> I also conveniently managed without even trying to put this at 200 words. So a neat little packaged double drabble.

Objectively, he knew he wasn’t going to win. He’d missed too much time, and Panarin had been so good all season—it was an obvious choice. But he’d heard the talk—he’d have to have been deaf not to—that he was still the best rookie, and should get the Calder. So it still stung, even if maybe it shouldn’t have, when he heard Panarin’s name called and not his own. 

By the end of the affair, he’s raw and he _needs_ , but Dylan’s not there yet even though he said they’d meet up there after, and he remembers what Dylan said about not domming him. If he’s honest, Dylan probably can’t give him what he wants anyway, Dylan would never hurt him, and God, but Connor needs it to _hurt_. He needs that hint of pain, needs to be taken to the edge and reminded that he’s not God’s gift to hockey—he _knows_ he’s not, but it’s hard not to let all the talk get to you sometimes—and Dylan can’t give him that.

But Jack—Jack can, and he’s here tonight also, looking neat and pin-perfect in a fitted black suit, dapper and smiling toothily at everyone.


End file.
